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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472822">borracho enamorado</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/taffiecat/pseuds/taffiecat'>taffiecat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>to care for you. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andres being Soft, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Jealousy, M/M, Martin being Soft, Possessive Behavior, Possible Misuse of Spanish, Pre-Heist Shenanigans, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:21:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/taffiecat/pseuds/taffiecat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martín has never seen Andrés this drunk before.</p><p>In hindsight, it had been a stupid idea to leave him in Sergio’s hands: he should have known that Andrés’ determination would overpower Sergio’s sharp but meagre protests that he stay put while they wait for Martín to get back from the bathroom. But - in his own defence, Martín thinks to himself - he knows Andrés better than anyone, maybe even better than he knows himself, and he could never have predicted this kind of behaviour from Mister “alcohol is to be appreciated as an art form, not as a coping mechanism”.</p><p>-</p><p>A drunken confessions fic because I feel like we all need a bit of that in our lives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>to care for you. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>borracho enamorado</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín has never seen Andrés this drunk before.</p><p>In hindsight, it had been a stupid idea to leave him in Sergio’s hands: he should have known that Andrés’ determination would overpower Sergio’s sharp but meagre protests that he stay put while they wait for Martín to get back from the bathroom. But - in his own defence, Martín thinks to himself - he knows Andrés better than anyone, maybe even better than he knows himself, and he could never have predicted this kind of behaviour from Mister “alcohol is to be appreciated as an art form, not as a coping mechanism”.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>When Martín returns from the bathroom to the corner table of the bar that the three of them had been sitting at, he finds Andrés’ seat empty and Sergio has his coat on, clearly itching it leave. Martín catches the younger brother’s eye as he approaches the table, giving him an incredulous look and flinging his arms out as if to say <em>You had </em>one <em>job, man</em>.</p><p>“I can’t deal with him,” Sergio sighs, bolting up from his seat as soon as his eyes lock on Martín’s, “He’s being arrogant and stubborn.”</p><p>“So, he’s just being his usual self then?” Martín tries to joke, but his quip only earns an exasperated look from Sergio.</p><p>“No, I can handle him being arrogant and stubborn when he’s sober. But when he’s arrogant and stubborn and <em>drunk</em>...”</p><p>Sergio flicks his glasses up his nose and Martín understands that it’s his turn to play the caretaker now.</p><p>“Hey, <em>tranquilo</em>,” he says, placing both of his hands on Sergio’s shoulders in a reassuring manner, “You go back to your place and I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”</p><p>Sergio nods, a grateful look in his eye, and darts out of the bar before Martín gets the chance to ask where abouts Andrés had ended up. <em>You’re welcome</em>, Martín scoffs as he watches the other man leave.</p><p>Martín looks around, scanning the place for any sign of Andrés, but he is nowhere that he can see from the angle he is standing at. He lets out a long sigh, taking one last swig of his beer and mentally preparing himself for the long night ahead.</p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, the bar is a lot bigger than Martín had originally thought. The three of them had sat near the entrance; Andrés had been too keen to get them all drinks for them to have had a chance to look around for a nicer table. The bar actually also has an upstairs and a downstairs, and each floor is comprised of six different rooms, including the ground floor where his search had begun. Martín curses Andrés under his breath for having somehow managed to find the most pompous bar in the city, and spontaneously at that.</p><p>After having thoroughly searched the whole of the ground floor, the downstairs and climbed up far too many stairs for Martín’s liking (he is <em>not</em> out of shape, <em>thank you very much</em>, he is just not quite as sober as Sergio and not quite as drunk as Andrés), he finally spots the green velvet suit that could only belong to one man, sitting on a stool at the upstairs bar. Andrés has his back to him, and if it hadn’t been for the suit (Andrés sticks out like a sore thumb in this place with that suit, but Martín certainly isn’t complaining) Martín probably wouldn’t have recognised him. Andrés has his head resting between his arms on the sticky countertop, and his lack of elegance contrasts greatly with his outward appearance.</p><p>Martín approaches him and gently puts his free hand that isn’t carrying Andrés’ coat and fedora on the other man’s back, conscious not to startle him. Andrés is anything but startled, seeming to immediately recognise the familiarity of the touch as he slowly turns his head to face Martín, a lazy grin sprawled across his face.</p><p>“Maaaartíííín,” he drawls, and Martín hates the way that his stomach flips at the way he says his name coupled with the affectionate stare he’s giving him.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing up here by yourself, hm?” Martín asks gently, sitting on the stool next to the other man without breaking their gaze.</p><p>“Sergio was being boring. I came to find you,” he says, his smile getting wider and wider, and Martín can’t help but smile too. Suddenly, Andrés is leaning in closer to Martín, close enough that Martín can smell the alcohol on him, and Martín finds himself having to compose himself, “I got lost,” the other man whispers with a sheepish smile and what Martín can only describe as a giggle.</p><p>“Well,” Martín coughs out a little too high-pitched, backing himself away slightly “I’ve found you now.”</p><p>“You have,” Andrés says. His gaze is intense, and Martín finds himself unable to move despite the uncomfortableness. It isn’t until the bartender appears a few seconds later, asking if they want any more drinks, that Martín is snapped back to the present.</p><p>“Um, no, no. We should, er, we should be going.”</p><p>This earns a groan from Andrés who is clearly about to protest, but Martín interrupts him before he gets the chance to, “I’ll settle the bill,” he tells the bartender.</p><p>He goes to stand up to follow the bartender to the till, but his arm gets caught and he finds himself being pulled back, facing the other man again. Andrés is stood up now, and his grip on Martín’s arm mirrors the intensity of the stare he has resumed giving him. Martín swallows: they are so close now that he can see the flush of colour on Andrés’ cheeks as a result of the evening’s antics.</p><p>“Andr-“</p><p>“You know I can’t let you do that,” Andrés breathes out, his voice no more than a whisper.</p><p>Martín curses drunk-Andrés for being even more stubborn and annoying and <em>attractive</em> than usual.</p><p>Andrés loosens his grip and Martín can feel his hand sliding gently down his arm, the softness of the touch sending a shiver down his spine.</p><p>Martín let’s out an unintelligible noise before taking a step backwards and uttering something along the lines of <em>don’t be stupid I can’t let you pay for the drinks on your birthday here take your coat and your hat and put them on I’ll be right back.</em> He winces as he darts away from the other man at how he all but threw Andrés’ clothes at him and at how panicked he had sounded. Maybe Andrés hadn’t noticed in his drunken state.</p><p> </p><p>After paying for the drinks, helping Andrés with his coat (he got back to find him with his arms in the sleeves, but with the coat on his front) and practically carrying the other man down the stairs, they finally make it outside to wait for the next taxi.</p><p>The coldness of the night clearly hits Andrés like a tonne of bricks.</p><p>“NoooOoOooo,” he whines, pulling his coat around him further and turning around, seemingly making a b-line for the bar again.</p><p>“Oh no you don’t,” Martín exclaims, grabbing the other man and wrapping him in his arms so as to stop him from escaping. He had expected a little more resistance from the other man, but as soon as his arms are round Andrés, the birthday-boy melts into the touch. Martín curses himself for not having thought this through properly.</p><p>“You’re so good to me, Martín,” Andrés purrs, each syllable drawn out.</p><p>Martín squeezes his eyes shut and looks up to the sky, “M’just taking care of you,” he replies, trying his very best to keep it together.</p><p>He takes a second to appreciate the intimacy of the moment; he rarely finds instances in which he can get so close to Andrés (despite the three moments of this evening seeming to suggest otherwise). The most he can usually hope for is a touch on the arm or a tap of the shoulder. Before he can think about it for too long, though, Andrés is twirling around in his grip, so that their noses are now practically touching.</p><p>“You don’t take care of anyone else but me.”</p><p>Martín can’t decide if that’s a statement or a request. Honestly, his mind is sort of all over the place at the minute. He wishes he hadn’t had so many beers so that he could at least think a little bit more clearly right now.</p><p>Andrés starts to nuzzle his nose against his own and Martín lets out a small gasp.</p><p>“Andrés, wh-“</p><p>“Shh, <em>cariño</em>,” the other man gets impossibly closer and Martín thinks he forgets how to breathe, “Let me take care of you, for a change.”</p><p> </p><p>If it hadn’t been for the loud noise of the taxi’s horn bringing him back to reality, Martín probably would have passed out. He all but leaps into the taxi, desperate to get some space between him and Andrés before he ends up doing something he regrets.</p><p>He gets in his seat and tells the driver their address. After a couple of seconds, he realises that the car isn’t moving, and that Andrés is still stood outside. He remembers the other man’s state and tells himself that he should probably get out to help him into the taxi but finds that he doesn’t have the strength to. Instead, he leans over to the other side of the car from his seat, about to open the door from the inside to let the man in, but the door opens by itself and Andrés is sat inches away from Martín’s face.</p><p>The driver, seemingly growing impatient, drives off as soon as the door is shut, not allowing any time for Andrés to put his seatbelt on. Andrés should definitely have his seatbelt on. Martín tells him as much. Andrés simply turns his head to face Martín and says, “You should put it on for me.”</p><p>Martín complies, chalking his behaviour up to the alcohol and seeing nothing weird about the request. That is, until his fingers reach the seatbelt and suddenly Andrés is turning his body to face his own, placing his hands on either side of his face and kissing him.</p><p>It’s gentle, at first, hesitant. A part of Martín wonders if it’s because Andrés has realised what he is doing and is starting to regret his decision. But when Martín doesn’t pull away (don’t judge him – how on Earth could he possibly muster up enough self-control to refuse kissing Andrés when he looks so disheveled and is wearing that suit), the kiss deepens, and Martín finds himself moaning into it. Despite their proximity, they are suddenly not close enough and Andrés seems to realise this. Seatbelt forgotten, he pushes Martín back to his side of the car and follows him to it, straddling him. Martín thinks he hears the driver mutter something about seatbelts but, honestly, that is the least of his concerns right now. His hands are in Andrés’ hair and Andrés’ hands are on his shirt, fumbling at the buttons. Despite every single part of him not wanting this kiss to end, Martín somehow finds it in him to break away.</p><p>"Andrés, what are you d- " He doesn’t get to finish his question though, because Andrés’ lips are on his neck now and Martín can no longer form comprehensive thoughts.</p><p>“I can take care of you, too,” Andrés growls, “I need to show you, so you don’t let anyone else try to take care of you.”</p><p>“Wh-“, Martín falters, “What are you talk-“</p><p>“That <em>hijo de puta</em> you were eyeing up, the one that followed you to the bathroom,” he continues to trail bruising kisses down Martín’s neck, “He can’t take care of you like I can.”</p><p>Martín’s brain is still in overdrive, but he just about manages to remember a handsome looking guy at the bar. He’d caught his eye a couple of times, but he had absolutely no memory of the man following him to the bathroom.</p><p>“Andrés,” Martín finally manages to get out, trying desperately to grab the other man’s attention, “Andrés, <em>por favor, Andrés</em> look at me for a second.”</p><p>The other man complies, looking up to Martín through his lashes. The Argentinian can’t help but let out a little laugh at the sight: his lips are swollen; his hair is tousled; his eyes are wild. Martín runs a hand softly through his curls.</p><p>“Andrés, <em>cariño</em>, how could you possibly think that any other man could warrant my attention? On your birthday of all days, while you’re wearing <em>that fucking suit</em>.” He plants another kiss on his lips, reassuring and caring, still wrapping his head around <em>how good it feels</em>.</p><p>Andrés seems to relax, and Martín breaks away when he can feel him smirking against his lips, “I know how much you like this suit,” Andrés purrs, and then leans to whisper against Martín’s ear, “I wore it for you.”</p><p> </p><p>They resume kissing for a while, but – despite his best efforts not to – Martín reminds himself that Andrés is more drunk than he’s ever seen him, and he shouldn’t take advantage of his state. He runs his hand through Andrés’ hair softly, and the other man seems to find it soothing enough to start to lightly doze off.</p><p> </p><p>Once they are back at their apartment and Martín has woken Andrés up from where he had nested in his shoulder, he puts one arm around the drunk man’s waist while the other holds his hand, guiding him to his room and onto his bed. He is about to leave to get him a glass of water for the morning when he feels a tug on his interconnected hand and before he knows it is being pulled onto the bed.</p><p>“Don’t leave me, Martín,” Andrés requests sleepily, his eyes shut but a content, lazy smile plastered on his face.</p><p>Martín allows himself to cuddle up to the other man and holds him even tighter. “Never,” he smiles into his hair, leaving a quick kiss there before whispering, “<em>Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first ever fic 🥺👉👈 I'd really appreciate any comments or suggestions!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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